


I hate everything about you, why do you love me?

by volna (seductrce)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, i guess, make-up sex, tears and confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:03:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1210303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductrce/pseuds/volna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kiyoshi is head over heels in love and Hanamiya doesn't want to admit anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I hate everything about you, why do you love me?

**Author's Note:**

> Yo. This is old, just btw. It's also a bit of cry-baby Mako being confused about how he feels. It happens to the worst of us. Stay chill.

**Part I: I fucking hate you.**

„I fucking hate you.“, he whispered through the door. The whisper came out as a yell somehow. It echoed through his empty apartment. It was dark and it was winter.  
Hanamiya Makoto had the lights turned off and the blinds closed and so his place was as sinister as the rest of him: 3am and no moon shining. The door against his forehead felt cool. His fingers slid over the smooth surface.  
„I know.“ Barely audible. _Speak the fuck up._  
„Go away.“, Hanamiya said again. His voice crumbled and he didn‘t know why. He closed his eyes. Nothing changed.  
„I can‘t.“ Louder this time but still quiet. _Fuck you._  
A broken sigh uttered, not by him. On the other side of the door. „Makoto, let me in.“  
_No._ „I said go away or I‘ll break your fucking neck. I mean it.“  
Hanamiya could hear Kiyoshi‘s hand press against his door more firmly. A murmur. It felt like the lips were right next to his ear. „You don‘t.“  
Hanamiya kicked the door. Hard. It almost gave in but he didn‘t care. He never did, not him, for nobody, for nothing, and definitely not for that waste of space outside.  
„You don‘t get to tell me what to DO!“ A yell again. He wanted it so, this time. But it was crooked. Why? Oh, right. The wetness on his face. Hanamiya ran the back of his hand over his cheeks, almost surprised to find it damp, and slammed it against the door, a loud thud, not nearly enough to release his rage.  
„Makoto, please. I... I can only say it again...I‘m…“  
 „Shut up. SHUT UP. SHUT. UP. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.“ Hanamiya banged his fist against the door again, emphazising every word. His face became wet once more and he didn‘t know where it was coming from. He liked to break things, break people, not let _himself_ be broken. _Stupid._  
Hanamiya slid down until he sat on the floor, forehead still against the door. He could hear Kiyoshi breathing. It wasn‘t helping.

„You are detestable, you fucking prick. I fucking hate you. You hearing that? I hate you. I hate everything about you. You are an abomination. An eyesore. I wish you were dead. YOU HEAR ME? I wish I could kill you myself. Wrap my fingers around your throat. I wish you would get the hell out. Why can‘t you just LEAVE ME ALONE?“ _Desperate._  
Hanamiya punched the door. Hard. The skin on his knuckles broke, leaving scarlet prints on the light surface, burgundy in the dark. Pause. He exhaled. _Shaking._ Didn‘t intend to say that much, but it happened. _Fuck it._  
Breathing slowly. In-out-in-out. Hoarse throat. Rasping sound. He tried to control himself. Closed his eyes again. The wetness wouldn‘t stop and it gave him nausea. Disgusting. Why, even? He should shatter Kiyoshi, shatter him like he had shattered that knee. Break Kiyoshi‘s body apart and devour his heart, cut him open and let him bleed. Just like Hanamiya was bleeding right now. _Destroy him._ Leave him nothing but the piece of trash he was.  
_Easy! (Really?)_

„I don‘t care, Makoto. I won‘t go. I‘ll stay as long as you need me to. I‘ll stay until you talk to me. Speak to me. Shout at me. I‘m begging you. Let me in, Makoto, let me... let me hold your hand, let me hug you, let me kiss you! Makoto, please...“  
The sound of fingers caressing the door outside. Hanamiya could almost feel them sliding down his face. Almost. _Don‘t._

„I‘m sick of this.“, Hanamiya whispered. „I‘m sick of you. How can you do this to me? Who gave you the right? I am invincible. I should be hating you so much right now. I do. You know that, right? I fucking hate you. I hate you so much it rips me apart. I want to rip you apart... But... “ He trailed off. _Shut up._

It hurt and Hanamiya didn‘t know where. It hurt and he didn‘t understand why. Everything was terribly wrong. He shouldn‘t feel anything. He shouldn‘t make a sound. But the tears were still streaming down his face and his sobs weren‘t silent anymore and he was choking and it was all because of Kiyoshi and that‘s why he hated that bastard.  
_Did he?_

Hanamiya‘s hands were lying on the floor and he wished he could grab Kiyoshi‘s shirt right now and sink his fist into that stupid (adorable) face and break Kiyoshi‘s nose and kiss the blood away.  
It would be salty and sweet and red and terrible and perfect. Hanamiya would paint bloody pictures on Kiyoshi‘s tall body, little circles and spirals. He would brush his lips against that knee, planting crimson flowers on alabaster. And Kiyoshi would still smile and pull him up from the floor and kiss the tip of his nose and smile again and kiss his lips tenderly and the display of affection would be totally disgusting.  
Hanamiya was still sobbing and shaking and chocking and it wouldn‘t stop and it was all because of Kiyoshi and that‘s why he hated that bastard.  
_Did he?_

Hanamiya whispered again. It was desperate and the words tumbled from his tongue unintendedly. _Stop talking._ He was lying and he was not. He wished he was. He wasn‘t. _Don‘t say it out loud._  
„But you know what the worst thing is?... Worst of ALL is...I don‘t hate you most. Most... most of all I hate the way... I hate the way I don‘t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all. I don‘t hate you, can you HEAR me? I do. But I don‘t. What is this? What the fuck did you do to me? I didn‘t want this. Ever. I didn‘t want you. Not like this. And now I do. I want you. FUCK, why aren‘t you SAYING anything?“ Hanamiya bit on his lip to constraint a horrifying whimper. Ashamed. And so, _so_ true. _Fuck you. How can you let me say those things? This can‘t be real. Go away. Let me breathe._

Trembling, Hanamiya changed positions, now leaning his back on the cold door. _Shiver._ Knees pulled in. Head in knees. Hands on head. Crying. Shaking. Still crying. _Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Lie to me. Say it again. Lie to me._

„Goddammit, Makoto!“ Anger. Explosion. A blow against the door. So hard it would‘ve broken a skull. Yet Kiyoshi wouldn‘t even harm a fly. He was not real. Not in Hanamiya‘s world. _Your kindness is what‘s killing me. Just stop it, already._

„I like you, ok?“ _Don‘t._ „I like you. I like you. I like you... I… **I love you, Makoto** and I will say it again and again until you finally hear me. Can you hear me? I LOVE YOU.  
What do I have to say to make it ok? Do I have to explain myself? Explain why? FINE, then. **I love you, Makoto.**  
I love your stupid bangs and the way you act so tough around everybody.  
I love it when you wear my sweaters and when you bite my neck and when you come to see me play just to tell me how awful I‘ve been.  
I love the way you think you‘re always right and the fact that you are so much smarter than me and how you always know the wrong words for the right situations.  
I love it that you tell me you hate it when I touch you and you still let me sleep in your lap while we‘re watching some stupid TV-show.  
I love it that you make me cook ten different dishes for you because you are never satisfied and how you‘ll always stir your coffee the same way, counterclockwise, seven times around, although you have it black.  
I love it that we can listen to Shostakovic and Pettersson and discuss the violin parts while your hands play with my hair and you would sit there with your eyes closed and just listen.  
I love the way you look at me when you catch me staring and I love the way you blush when I catch you.  
I love the way my sheets smell after you lay in my bed and I love the way your lips are all swollen after hours of kissing and I love the way I can see your nail marks on my skin for weeks.  
I love it that I miss you when you are not around and I love the little crease that forms between your brows when you laugh about something you shouldn‘t laugh about.  
I love it that you are a psychotic, sick little bastard and I hate the fact that I love it, but I do.  
There is nothing, NOTHING, I don‘t love about you, Mako-to...“

The speech finally died, from yell to whisper to silent and the voice on the other side broke, ugly sound, and Hanamiya sat there in shock because no, this couldn‘t be right, and there were sobs behind the door now, too. It had been quiet and deafening, it was still ringing in his ears, screaming at him with a purr, **_I love you, Makoto_** , and he was wearing Kiyoshi‘s sweater right now, the ivory one with the sky-blue stripes and the cozy sleeves, because it was far too big and it smelled like Kiyoshi and Hanamiya didn‘t know what to think or what to say. And Kiyoshi was banging his head softly against the door now and Hanamiya felt a pain tightening his chest and that couldn‘t be right. This had to be a dream. A nightmare. He was sick again and his eyes started to burn because they were wide open and he wouldn‘t blink. 

Everything was dark and everything was silent and the only sounds were their incoherent dry sobs and their ragged breaths and it was winter and Kiyoshi would be freezing outside, Hanamiya suddenly realized, he wouldn‘t be warm enough out there in the cold and he was wearing one of Kiyoshi‘s sweaters. 

Maybe, Hanamiya then thought, maybe he could open the door, just for a moment, because he couldn‘t breathe in here and the air around him had grown thick and heavy, there was no oxygen and he had to breathe (right?), and there was fresh, light, wonderful air outside, just outside his door, so maybe, maybe he could open it just for a moment, only so he could breathe again.

*******

**Part II: Okay.**

Hanamiya didn‘t know how much time had passed. It could‘ve been minutes or hours or maybe days or mere seconds. It didn‘t matter. His tears had dried up by now, leaving salty streaks on his cheeks. It didn‘t matter. He could still hear Kiyoshi breathing behind his door. That mattered. 

Then: such a minor thing. So small, really. Almost unnoticable. Kiyoshi sneezed. Quiet sound, nothing that should attract your attention. Insignificant. Irrelevant. Unimportant.  
Hanamiya was on his feet at once, tearing the door open with so much force the hinges almost snapped. Kiyoshi nearly fell. He had been unknowingly mirroring Hanamiya‘s position, back against the door, legs stretched out infront of him. A jacket, a scarf, no gloves, red hands, no hat, red cheeks.  
Hanamiya‘s exhalation hit the air outside, _holy shit, it was freezing cold_ , a small cloud of condensation hanging in front of him for a moment. Goosebumps all over. _Fuck._  
Kiyoshi was surprised. Face of awe, then a smile, not a smile, just a sad curve upwards, tugging at one corner. He got up from the floor, long limbs everywhere, and stood there, looking Hanamiya dead in the eye. Hanamiya stared back. The moment was endless and only three seconds long. 

The next thing Hanamiya knew, he was being pushed back inside by big hands with long fingers and they were so cold their touch felt hothothot, burning his skin.  
The door fell closed, _he didn‘t close it_ , and it was dark around them and suddenly there was a jacket and a scarf on the floor next to him, _he didn‘t lose them_ , and he was pulled up in the air and large, strong hands held him there.

He could wrap his legs around Kiyoshi‘s waist. It felt right. He did it.  
_His hands rough on my skin._  
He could wrap his arms around Kiyoshi‘s neck. It felt right. He did it.  
_His breath hot against my jaw._  
He could rest his forehead against Kiyoshi‘s forehead. It felt right. He did it.  
_His hair soft inbetween my fingers._  
He could put his lips on Teppei‘s lips. It felt perfect. He was being kissed.  
_His tongue deep down my throat._

They reached the living room fastest. The couch was enormous, Makoto slept there more often than in his bed. He was on top of Teppei or was it the other way around? Confusion. It didn‘t matter. Nothing mattered. Just touchkisstouchkissBITEkisskisskiss.  
Somehow Makoto lost his sweater and Teppei lost his shirt and soon they both lost all there was to lose until it was just them in the dark.  
More kiss. More touch. More bite. Some scratch. A lot of scratch. Pain. Pleasure. Moan.  
„I fucking hate you.“ Moan.  
„I know.“ Shut up. Don‘t speak. Moan again. Louder this time.  
Limbs tangled, back arching, low screaming, harsh panting, no rush, so S-L-O-W. Pressed against each other, body on body, tongues everywhere, hands restless, shaking, not cold anymore, just hothothot. Ecstatic.  
_Fuck, yes, right there, don‘t stop, please, like that?, yes, faster, fuck, harder, fuck, keep going, deeper, deeper, harder, yes._ Blow me, fuck me, love me, hate me.  
Messy hair, look at you, so sweaty, let me just... I‘ll push it back. _Your face before my eyes. Fuck me. More._  
Bite on lips, almost scream. Bite on tongue, muffled sound. _Bite your neck, you love it._

_Come with me._  
_Right there and then, your name escaped my lips._

Eventually, they ended up on the floor, but Makoto didn‘t care. Everything was sticky, chaos of pillows and blankets and them, but it was warm and quiet and he lay on Teppei‘s chest and drew pictures on him with his nails, little circles and spirals. Makoto‘s hand was pulled up and every knuckle kissed, and he hated it and it was perfect.  
„I‘ll massage your knee.“, Makoto said, getting up, but not letting go, not yet. Once, very quickly, he ran his hand through Teppei‘s hair and down his face. Teppei probably didn‘t notice, his eyes were closed (he did).  
„Okay.“, came the answer. Happy bumble-bee humming from sleepy teddy-bear. A little, blissfull smile curving his red lips. _Ugh, just look at you. So…_  
Looking at Teppei, Makoto smirked, maybe (or smiled).  
Nothing mattered. Only...  
**„I love you, Makoto.“**

**Author's Note:**

> I want to delete anything pre 2025 but at the same time I'm making myself not to so I can come back and look at this and stew in shame over how bad this truly is, I'm sorry yall


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